


Stained

by Kalaiya



Category: K-pop, TXT (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Slow Build, Vampire!BTS AU, Vampire!Hosoek, Vampire!Jungkook, Vampire!Yoongi, idol!BTS, idol!reader, poly!bts, vampire!Seokjin, vampire!jimin, vampire!namjoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalaiya/pseuds/Kalaiya
Summary: Today is your debut as Big Hit Entertainment's first (completely solo) female idol, and the day has more in store for you than just dealing with the stress of the beginning of your career.  With BTS's 'Love Yourself: Speak Yourself' World Tour ending, your manager couldn't have set up your debut at a better time.  With a party held at Big Hit Headquarters that night in your honor, you're expected to play the part of a perfect idol despite your anxieties.What will happen when a few members of BTS unexpectedly run into you on the day of your debut?  You never expected to meet any of your seniors, not like this.  Not covered in blood.A Vampire!BTS and Idol!Reader AU mashup where you, the reader, are throw into the stress of being a brand new idol just months after TXT's debut as well as the stress of slowly finding out your Bangtan seniors are vampires!





	Stained

You stare at the 75 inch screen television in front of you, spine straight and breath caught in your throat. Sweat pooled between your palms, your hands clutched tightly together in your lap. Every fiber of your being was wired, anxious. Today was the biggest and most important day of your career so far: your debut.

Even though you had seen plenty of your own choreography practices and recordings of you in the studio, nothing surmounted to the feeling of watching your first ever fully edited and stylized music video. All of your hard work through idol training, all of the hours spent recording main and backup vocals, all of the days you locked yourself away in a dance studio practicing for the music video until you were spent -- it was all finally paying off.

Although you weren’t the first solo artist to debut with Big Hit Entertainment, you were the first solo female in a company completely domineered by male idols (that was signing on solely with Big Hit). It was intimidating to you to say the least, especially since Big Hit’s biggest success and golden boys were finishing their Love Yourself: Speak Yourself world tour. Just like with TXT, your managers at Big Hit expected your debut to take off immeasurably well due the army of a fan-base that your seniors had. You hoped that factor of your exposure would only be a precursor to your own fans who could connect with your passion in music, and not just with your association to the one and only Bangtan Sonyeondan.

“A sure-fire hit,” your manager says with a smile as she reaches across the table to give you a hearty pat on the back. A chorus of agreement flutters around you from your seat at the head of the table as the rest of your production team watches the live feed with you. Despite the unanimous agreement that your debut song is as perfect as it can be, you find yourself critiquing the little things: the runs that accompany your chorus, the dance moves that may have been playing it a little safe, even your final hair and makeup choice for some of the scenes of the music video.

Your manager seems to catch on to your analyzing, her smile quickly fading. She scoots her rolling chair around the edge of the table to lean in close, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Quit furrowing your brow, Y/N. It is wonderful, you look and sound wonderful. I promise you.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” you mumble, doing your best to relax your eyebrows and unknot your hands. You wipe the sweat of your palms off on your leggings, turning your attention from the screen to your manager’s worried face. “I just know I’m in such a large shadow.”

She seems to agree with you on that, nodding her head softly and giving your shoulder a squeeze. “It’s true,” her voice is still soft, nurturing like always. “But I’ve seen what you are capable of. I wouldn’t worry about that shadow for too long, you’re bright enough to cast away any darkness.”

You give her an earnest smile, probably your first one all week. She always knew the right thing to say to brush away your self doubt, even if only for a moment.

Turning your attention back to the television screen, you watched your music video come to an end. The Korean television station you were tuned to faded out and into a commercial and the room erupted in applause, not only for your debut but in turn for all of the team’s hard work in producing the video. You kept your earnest smile and clapped along too. Even if your own self doubt was constantly in the back of your mind, you knew how hard the production team at Big Hit worked for and with you. At the very least they deserved the applause.

With a final pat on your shoulder, your manager stood and hurried to the television to mute it. She stood in front of the wide screen and waved her hands up and down, shushing the crowded meeting room. “Thank you so much everyone for joining me and Y/N this afternoon to watch her live television debut. I’ll save my big, sappy speech for this evening’s festivities but I wanted to thank you all truly, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your hard work.”

After her short monologue, your manager gave a small bow and the room erupted once more with congratulations. At this you stood yourself and beamed at everyone, giving your own small bow of thanks. Your manager had promised you she would do most of the talking throughout the day, and you were eternally grateful. You were incredibly anxious in front others when it came to your work, and because of your manager’s warm personality, most people did not seem to mind that you mostly stayed quiet.

Tonight would be different though. You were expected to give a speech, as well as preform your debut single.

Pushing aside such nauseating thoughts, you spent the rest of the time in the meeting room delivering personal thanks at the door with your manager as everyone left to finish their work or prepare for the festivities that were planned for that night. Thankfully, it went fairly quickly and you were allowed to disappear to your personal studio until it was time for hair and makeup for your Big Hit debut party.

Your studio was on the same floor as the other idols’ studios, though you rarely ever saw anyone. With the TXT boys spending so much of their free time finishing up their schooling and the members of Bangtan gone abroad for their tour, you have had the floor almost to yourself for many months. Today was no different as you found yourself exiting the elevator and rounding the empty halls to your studio. It was on the opposite end of the floor as the Bangtan boys and just past the members of TXT, with Huening Kai being your neighbor. You eased past his door to yours, reminiscing briefly on the English lessons he crafted for you that now sat untouched at the bottom of your desk drawer. Without Kai here to encourage you (or rather, help you through the grammar and vocabulary), you had let your studying slack in place of your long hours in the dance studios.

You would pick up learning English again. At some point.

Punching in your access code and clicking open the frosted glass door to your small studio, you kicked off your shoes immediately on entering. You’d be stuck in heels the rest of the night so you might as well experience the bliss that is being flat-footed while you could. Your shoes slid under your sofa-turned-bed and you readily threw yourself at it, collapsing amongst the multitude of pillows and fuzzy blankets that coated your black leather couch.

Your studio was an absolute mess. With the couch being a makeshift bed and the floor being your makeshift closet, it was incredibly cramped and cluttered. You were given the option to stay in a hotel while your dormitory was renovated and set up for you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept such an offer. The thought of your living space being essentially invaded by cleaning staff daily was too much for your private heart to handle, not to mention being surrounded by strangers in the rooms around you. You’d much rather stay as you are: cramped, alone, and at peace in your small studio.

Digging around in the blankets and pillows that encompassed you on your sofa-bed, you quickly found and followed the charging cord that lead to your cellphone. Tapping it to life you sighed as you read the time. It was half past three, which meant that you only had about two hours before you were expected downstairs in the salon to get your hair styled and makeup applied. Scrolling through your social media feeds, careful to avoid any commentary on your debuted music video, you debated whether or not to nap until it was time to get ready.

But without much more thought and only a bit more scrolling a small wave of exhaustion caught you, tugging you quickly into a snooze with your phone still in hand.

\--

6:09.

That was the time that read on your phone when the vibrations against your face finally woke you up. It was your manager’s seventh missed call that finally stirred you from an apparently well-needed nap, and her eighth call that caused you to tear out of your studio so fast that you didn’t bother with shoes or locking the door.

“Y/N? Where are you? Hair and makeup was scheduled for almost forty minutes ago!” 

Your manager’s warm and cheerful voice was obviously strained, and your heart ached at the sound.

“Iamsosorryohmygod,” you slurred out as you skidded around a corner of the studio floor, sprinting your way towards the elevators with phone glued to your ear. “I fell asleep without setting an alarm, I am on my way I promise!”

The phone call ended with her tutting you for your mistake as you reached the elevator doors, nearly sliding past them on the marble floors in your socks. Letting out a loud and exasperated groan, you shoved your phone into the band of your leggings and pushed the down button on the keypad. Almost instantly the doors slid open, much to your delight. The elevator must have remained on the floor. Swallowing the next stressed groan that tempted to rear its head, you quickly jumped into the elevator.

And face-first into someone’s chest.

You recoiled almost instantly, hands flying up to clutch your nose as the other person flung themselves backwards against the wall of the elevator clearly startled. Both of you let out a string of words akin to ‘what the fuck’ and you backed out of the elevator, raising your now watering eyes to whomever you’ve just assaulted with your face.

“Iamsosor-” you start to spit out again from behind your hands but the face that stares back at you with similar sympathy catches you off guard, and your words lose themselves.

“Y-Yoongi sunbaenim?”

You stared up in awe at the grey-haired Bangtan member, your tear-filled eyes meeting his surprised ones briefly before you ducked your head into an apologetic bow.

“I am so sorry,” you repeated slower, head still angled down and hands still clasped over your nose and mouth. “I did not expect anyone to be on the floor and I just kind of sprinted into the elevator without thinking.”

After a few beats without hearing a reply, you lifted your head curiously, your eyes still watering from the pain of having your nose bashed into someone’s collarbone. It was in fact Min Yoongi, member of BTS’s rap line and one of your seniors at Big Hit, and his eyes were fixated on your hands.

“Your nose..” he mumbles, back still pressed to the elevator wall, his hands curled into small fists at his side. 

You cocked your head to the side instinctively, a trademark of your confusion, and are instantly met with a terrible throb from your skull. You pull your hands away from your face and grimace, the smell and taste finally hitting you -- you had busted open your nose. And you were bleeding profusely.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, moving your hands back to your face in an attempt to slow the flow now trickling down your chin and to your shirt. You quickly discover that isn’t going to do any good and wipe your hands down your shirt, thankful that it is black, before flipping it up to press the fabric of the hem to your nose. That should work a little better.

Ready to try and laugh off what had just transpired as well as the pain, you turn your attention back to the elevator only to see the doors sliding closed. You can barely see him as the doors slide to a close, but Yoongi looks absolutely disgusted. Your stomach flips a little, suddenly riddled with guilt.

That wasn’t how you expected your first meeting would go. At all.

\--

It takes you another twenty minutes to get down several flights of stairs and make a quick stop into a bathroom before you find yourself in the salon, nose still running slightly and your face an absolute bloody wreck. You’re an hour past when your hair and makeup appointment was and the air in the room absolutely bleeds annoyance.

Once you push through the doors you are met with multiple cold stares from the hair and makeup team, as well as a frustrated look from your manager who was sitting at one of the styling chairs. You assume she was about to call you again, but once you are fully in the room and just a slight bit closer, the atmosphere in the room changes drastically.

Your manager drops her phone on the makeup counter in front of her and rushes to your side, quickly assessing the damage to your face while running her hands all over the air in front of you, as if she’s afraid by touching you she’ll make it worse.

“Oh my god, Y/N. How in the hell did you break your nose? I thought you said you were napping!” She barraged, her previously annoyed tone replaced with an incredibly worried and motherly demeanor. You’re quick to jump back a little at her waving hands, your face throbbing enough that even a gust of air sends immense pain through your skull.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, doing your best to step around her and towards the styling chair that you assume is where you’ll be prepared. Your usual makeup artist is there and instead of holding any form of brush or sponge, she’s now holding a wet washcloth and a very worried look. Your manager doesn’t stop you from taking your seat, but she’s absolutely glued to your side with her face scrunched in distress.

“Don’t just sigh at me,” she scolds, furrowing her brows at the same time she crosses her arms beside you. “Tell me what happened while your MUA here attempts to clean you up.”

You gift your artist your most apologetic look you can muster, which you imagine looks terribly pitiful with your current state. You can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror to check yourself, so your eyes find a pretty pink bottle of hairspray on the makeup counter in front of you to focus on.

“I sprinted out of my studio right after I picked up the phone,” the explanation begins, your lips forming a soft pout. Your makeup artist does her best to begin to wipe your face and neck clean of any blood, being careful of the slight gash across the bridge of your nose. You do your best not to wince with every touch. “When I got to the elevator, the doors slid right open and I bolted straight into.. someone.”

You bit your lip slightly on ‘someone’, Yoongi’s contorted face flashing through your mind again. He truly looked like he had never seen something more hideous, and you suppose that you couldn’t blame him. The new idol, makeupless and covered in her own blood? Atrocious at best.

“Oh, Y/N..”

You look over at your manager who has now taken her place in the styling chair beside you, her chin in her hands. For a second, you think she’s going to start crying. She looks just about as miserable as you feel.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you on the phone,” she mumbles, shaking her head softly. You know that she didn’t, at least not really, but she has always been the type to take blame on herself for just about every infraction that goes on around her. Your manager’s heart was almost too big and empathetic. “You didn’t have to sprint down here, you couldn’t help that you fell asleep..!”

Before she can continue scolding herself, you reach a hand out and place it on her knee. You give it a gentle squeeze and do your best to shake your head back while your makeup artist wipes the final smears of blood from your cheek. 

“Stop that.”

She blinks up at you and as if it doesn’t cause you any pain, you gift her your award winning smile.

“I’m fine, okay? Things happen. And it is most definitely my fault for slamming into sunbaenim.”

Your manager seems consoled enough and manages to bat back her tears behind her eyelashes, nodding at you curtly. You are relieved she’s let it go so quickly.

“Wait, sunbaenim?”

Oh, or not.

As if sent from above to rescue from embarrassing yourself further, your makeup artist returns with a primer and a lotion in hand -- as well as a small bottle of liquid skin. “Excuse me ladies but if we’re going to have Y/N-nim ready on time for her debut party, I’m going to have to get working on fixing up her cute little face.”

And with that, your manager bids you a slightly skeptical farewell and you keep yourself occupied by counting the gemstones in the makeup counter as your MUA does her job.

\--

“It’s like I never busted it.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, completely dolled up and ready for the party that was only minutes away from beginning. Your makeup was light and airy, a compliment of light creams and rosy pinks. The buffed out pink shadow that framed your eyes matched the deeper and shinier gloss that coated your lips. Your cheeks were a soft peachy color as well, sculpted out just slightly to accentuate your cheekbones. Even the highlight that framed your face and the bridge of your now seemingly healed nose shone out a beautiful shade of pink.

You looked absolutely adorable, beautiful even, and you were amazed that your makeup artist in tandem with your hair stylist was able to completely turn around your appearance in just over thirty minutes.

“Of course not, I’m just that good.” You smile at your artist in the mirror, her head popping up from behind you as she zips up your dress for you. You gift her a grateful bow before turning around on your newly donned heels, taking a few steps back from the mirror to take a look at your full ensemble.

The dress that was chosen for you is a pale cream color without any sleeves or shoulders. A lace floral bodice clings to your torso and once the material squeezes down to meet your hips, it billows down to your mid-thigh with opalescent pink floral designs in another layer of lace. You have stockings that leave just a few inches of bare skin between the edge of your dress and the top of the design, which stripes down in a very intricate pattern that upon closer inspection are rows of white roses. Even your shoes, a pair of white pumps, have small roses nestled over the buckle. Your hair is pinned half back and over one shoulder, a cream hairband holding back any fringe you have in a subtle flower crown.

You feel like a princess, and for someone who got their nose busted just under an hour ago, you really needed that feeling.

After a few more moments admiring the party look (and a few selfies) you quickly find yourself ushered by your manager out of the salon and down towards the main lobby of Big Hit Entertainment. You’re not surprised to find that the lobby has been slightly made over in order to accommodate many big screens, presumably for a music video viewing, as well as the inevitable cameras that plan to capture all of the speeches and speakers of the night.

Which includes you. Your stomach churned a bit, but you continued your quick look around as you and your manager descend from the main glass elevator into the main lobby. There are plenty of catering tables set up along the far walls of the gymnasium sized lobby, a dance floor seems to be prepared, as well as not one but two full bars. People are already in vast abundance, gathering into groups to socialize and seemingly pouring in from the front doors with no end. 

The glass elevator stops at the lobby in just a few seconds but your stomach continues down into the lower levels of Big Hit Entertainment Headquarters, doing a few flips on its way down for good measure. You absolutely hated crowds but you would be damned if anyone found out. Your manager was the only one who knew about your aversion, and she gives you a reassuring hand squeeze before guiding you out of the elevator.

The world seems to stop around you as everyone turns to stare, waves of heads turning to witness your arrival. Everything is in slow motion, from the lights that dazzle overhead to the steps that you and your manager take forward. Your entire being feels wired, like electricity is running through you, and almost for a moment it feels good.

But then it doesn’t, and your anxiety catches up with you. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel as if you’ll fall over.

Right before you feel your knees give out, a strong arm wraps around your middle and time seems to speed back into place. Startled that someone has caught you, your head whips to find a familiar face just inches from yours. Your pulse skyrockets and your skin comes alive with another wave of electricity as your eyes connect with yet another of your seniors’.

“Careful there, pretty girl.” Jung Hosoek’s lips are close to your ear as he muses this to you, the world famous cheekbone-y smile shining down at you. Eyes wide and perfectly glossed mouth slightly open, you find yourself gawking at the older idol.

Your manager is quick to turn to you but you can’t see her expression, you’re simply lost in your senior’s eyes. There is a soft voice that you only vaguely recognize as your manager’s speaking to the two of you, but even Hosoek seems completely entranced with you. Where his hand supports you on your upper back feels aflame and you’re close enough to be brushing chests with him which sends even further heat through your body. He smells of fresh herbs and cedar that completely overtake your senses, and the lights overhead give him this warm, gilded glow. You’re almost certain that he’s going to lean in closer to kiss you when the speakers that line the lobby begin to boom with the familiar voice of Bang Sihyuk, Big Hit Entertainment’s founder and co-CEO and the two of you abruptly rip apart.

“And here she is, everyone! Our new lovely rose, Y/N!” Your founder’s voice booms all around you, and it takes you a minute to find him among the crowd. He’s walking towards you and a spotlight shines down on him, illuminating his determined yet cheery march in your direction. At this announcement, a spotlight shines down on you as well, just as Hosoek removes his arms from you. Thankfully you’ve caught yourself as he releases you and your manager steadies you by the shoulder. 

You’re almost blinded by the light pouring down on you, but you’re quick to notice that Hosoek is no longer beside you. Although difficult, you squint off into the crowd in search of him as the co-CEO known as “Hitman” Bang finds his way across the stretch of lobby to you with microphone in-hand. Just as both of your spotlights connect as he reaches you and your manager, you think you see Hosoek’s dazzling smile disappear into the crowd with a wave, but you’re not sure.

Head still fairly fuzzy for a multitude of reasons, you’re quick to slap your preprogrammed idol smile on your face just as Hitman places a hand on your free shoulder. Your attention bounces from him to the large screens that litter the walls of the lobby, all illuminated with you, your manager’s, and Hitman’s smiling faces. You’re hoping that only you can tell the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Doing your best to not come across as robotic or stiff, you let yourself be guided across the lobby floor with Hitman and your manager, each of them with a hand on your shoulder. You clasp your hands together in front of you, secretly fidgeting with the floral designs embossed on the front of your bodice, keeping your pink lips set into a well practiced smile. Hitman takes the lead in guiding you over to a small stage that has been set up towards one end of the room where the majority of the crowd has been mingling. People are still filtering in, and although the crowd is respectfully silent as Hitman speaks, the feeling of so many eyes on you is almost deafening.

You know that he is giving a short introductory speech that will lead to your own before the party truly commences, but your mind is utterly distracted. All of the people, lights, and the overall atmosphere buzzing around you causes your anxiety to skyrocket. Your mind quickly races to catch up with itself, replaying the events of your day so far as if that will quell any sort of jitters you have. 

Your body still feels electric where Hosoek touched you. Your nose and eyes still burn from where you cracked your face on Yoongi’s collarbone. Although you’re no longer groggy from your impromptu nap, your stomach still flips with guilt from being late to your hair and makeup appointment. Even the self doubt from watching your music video’s premiere is still lingering at the back of your mind. And to top it all off, your body won’t stop vibrating. It is like your skin is filled with electricity, and you’re not sure if its the anxiety or something else lighting you aflame from the inside.

You are barely register that Hitman’s speech has concluded before your manager gives you a gentle nudge towards the podium center stage where a microphone and camera await you. And because of your already dissociated headspace, you’re able to approach the podium with little resistance.

And you deliver a cheery, almost entirely improvised, thank-you speech.

\--

“It really wasn’t that bad, noona,” Heuning Kai, the diamond maknae of TXT and one of your best friend’s since the beginning idol training at Big Hit, tells you. Sitting beside him is another of your close friends and the only member of TXT that is able to toast champagne with you, Choi Yeonjun. Although you’re on your third glass and he’s only on his first flute, you both look about the same shade of sun-kissed red.

“He’s right,” Yeonjun’s deeper voice confirms from behind the champagne flute. You give both boys a distrusting look from your place at the hightop table across from them, and they both pout in unison.

“I’m pretty sure half of what I said didn’t make any sense,” you lament, setting down your champagne flute and scooting it to the center of the table. You lower your head to rest on your arms, which are now crossed against the cool marble surface. You stare up at the two of them from behind the bubbling glass. “I just kept repeating how grateful I was and babbling about the future.”

The two boys share a look and Kai isn’t able to contain a giggle that rises to his lips. “That’s kind of the point, noona.”

You blow a defeated raspberry at them from the table, letting your eyes slide from their faces to the party raging around you. It has been about an hour since your speech and you only recently were able to escape from center stage. You answered a few pre-planned questions for the invited press, shook many hands of people you either did not know or had only vaguely heard of, and spent a solid fifteen minutes being coached by your manager on what the rest of the night should be like for you.

She suggested you mingle, ask for opinions and advice from the staff members and experienced idol invitees that may be roaming the lobby. You had decided on drinking and hiding in a corner on your phone. Your face often plastered the television screens around you with your music video and debut single playing on repeat with a mix of other Big Hit Entertainment group and solo artists’ music videos in between. The dance-floor was absolutely packed with drinking party-goers, and every corner of the lobby (and some other areas of the building) was absolutely bustling. It was sheer chance that Yeonjun and Kai had found you, a small gift of familiarity and peace amongst the chaos that was a debut party.

“It does get easier,” Kai tries to reassure you, reaching out across the table to place a hand on top of your head. He gives your flower crown a small pat and shoots you a lopsided grin. “I think we’re more awkward on stage than you, anyway.”

The small but cute gesture makes you laugh and you bat his hand away, a bit flustered. You sit up straight and shrug, shaking your head a little with a soft smile. Even though you are older than them, getting a slightly late start at being an idol for most people’s standards, they’re still your sunbaes and they’re always there for you. Yeonjun and you bonded fairly quickly over your love of soju and snacks, and even though he’s often busy he somehow makes time to help you with your choreography at least once a week. Kai of course had been teaching you English, and as your studio neighbor he was never too far away if you ever needed an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on when things became too stressful. The other boys from TXT also had your back, with Choi Soobin always ready to escape the studio with you to find some de-stress ice cream, Choi Beomgyu on call anytime if you need help with lyrics or just want to jam out on guitar together, and Kang Taehyun who’s told you their dorm is always open for American movie nights.

Even though you were being trained separately, the boys were being prepared for being idols at the same time as you were with your debut only a few months after theirs. You felt such strong connections with each of the TXT members because of this, as if you were apart of TXT yourself. Looking at the two of them across the table from you, glammed up just like you were, you couldn’t help but feel part of your stress and anxiety melt away.

You truly were lucky to have such good friends who understood what you felt so personally.

“Hey speaking of awkward,” the older of the two boys begins after finishing off his first flute of champagne. “Was that Hosoek sunbaenim that met you at the elevator earlier?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, folding your face in your hands, feeling a wave of embarrassment take you briefly. “Yes, yes it was.”

Although your first meeting was incredibly intimate and brief, you still weren’t sure how to wrap your head around what you had felt when he touched you. Or how he had gotten to you so fast when your knees buckled.

The two boys shared another look between themselves, both cocking an interested eyebrow, before turning their attention back to you. Moving in unison once again they both propped their elbows on the marble tabletop and nestled their chins in their hands, smug looks playing both their faces as if to say ‘go on’.

You feel your face flush more. “I don’t know why you’re both giving me that look,” you begin, playing with the koala bear phone charm that hangs from the bottom of your phone on the table. “I was feeling incredibly anxious, like my legs were going to go out from under me, and all of a sudden Hosoek sunbaenim was there. I didn’t have time to even react before he was gone again.”

Kai sticks his tongue out at you, one eyebrow still arched in suspicion. “Oh really? Is that why he held you like a long-lost lover?”

“Or why your eyes were the size of saucers, lips only inches apart?” Yeonjun adds, snickering into his hands.

You briefly consider reaching across the table and giving the two of them a well deserved slap on the wrists for speaking to you in such a manner, but you know they’re only teasing. You’re more upset that they’re right, your brief embrace with the BTS rapper was incredibly intimate. Your face flushes further.

“Have the two of you met before?” Kai inquires, managing to keep a fairly straight face as he digs for more information. 

The elder boy stops his snickering and elbows the other. “They’ve been gone on their world tour, Kai. She hadn’t the chance to meet them before they left, so of course she’s not met them before. They just got back last night.”

Kai doesn’t seem convinced, turning towards his senior with pursed lips. “We don’t know that for sure! What if they were meeting..”

The both turn back towards you comically with wide eyes, grins returning. “..in private?”

They’re both playing with you at this point, and you fall for it. Your face goes beat red, both embarrassed and slightly frustrated by their teasing. You have to bite your lip from scolding them and this doesn’t go unnoticed, both boys immediately erupting with laughter. You snatch your phone from the table and slide it in the side of your bodice, abruptly standing in a huff.

“I need another drink!” you quickly proclaim, a piss poor but handy reason for excusing yourself from the table. You quickly turn away on your heel from the two cackling boys and march off into the crowd towards one of the two bars. It didn’t matter which one, just that you put some distance between you.

The dance floor is too populated and fast-paced for you to be able to sneakily dance your way across the lobby so you’re stuck attempting to navigate between all of the tables that have been set up for the guests that litter the edges of the dance floor. Even though you’re certain you stick out like a sore thumb in your bright white ensemble, you don’t notice any eyes following you for too long. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, which is a relief to you both because it means your debut party is a success but more-so that they’re too busy having a good time to notice its you, brand new idol for Big Hit, sneaking across the floor.

You find one of the full bars in just a few short minutes of dodging elbows and twisting through groups of busy party-goers. Every stool that has been set up with the traveling bar has been taken but you’re determined to at least have one last drink before disappearing to your studio so you saddle up at the edge of the bar beside someone in hopes to flag down the bartender. You wanted something a bit stronger and more flavorful than the 3 flutes of champagne you had taken from the waitstaff walking around with trays.

The bartender, a tall man with bleached hair, is expertly tossing tumblers and pouring out different drinks simultaneously at the opposite end of the bar. You do your best to try and catch his eye but he’s too absorbed with his work to notice and it’s too loud to shout over the music and chatter of the others sitting at the bar around you. Although in the past you have been praised for having an angel’s patience, you find yourself absolutely antsy at the edge of the bar.

Pressing onto your tiptoes, which is quite difficult in your heels, you do your best to become as big as possible on the clear space at the edge of the bar. There’s a reasonable distance between you and the person you’ve saddled up to at the bar since you’ve taken to the edge of the counter top, so there is no reason for you to accidentally bump them. And you don’t.

Instead you raise your hand to try and actively flag down the bartender, knocking your knuckles into the person’s drink and sending it flying straight into their lap.

“OhmygodIamsosorry!” you blurt out for what feels like the billionth time that day, almost shrieking it in surprise. You quickly dive for the glass you’ve flung but to no avail, ending up twisting your ankle because of your flailing and you tumble directly into them.

He’s quick to react to the glass falling towards him, sliding off the back of the stool to spare his white slacks the stain, but because of this he’s unprepared for your body to collide with him. In a messy array of limbs, you feel your face collide with yet another chest this day and your face throbs with a familiar pain, your attempt to catch yourself failed and his attempt to dodge you only making the impact more forceful.

Howling in pain, unable to contain your agony as your nose’s wound is undeniably reopened, you push yourself off of the person you’ve collided with and spin on your heel. A plethora of almost unintelligible apologies spill from your mouth as you turn and bolt along the wall. You bump into quite a few other party guests as you run in search of the nearest bathroom, your hands pressed painfully tight against your nose as to keep any blood that dare spill out from landing on your beautiful white dress. 

This could not be happening a second time. Not again.

You burst through the swinging door to the ladies room, thankful that the polished marble that makes up the sink is a black and grey speckled color, and immediately throw yourself over one of the basins. Flipping on the running water, you hang your head over the sink to let your face drain into the steady stream. Adrenaline courses through your veins, any calming affect your (albeit mean) best friends and the alcohol had granted you completely dissipating. You fumble aggressively for any sort of tissue, paper towel, or wash cloth to press to your steadily dripping nose in hopes to still the bleeding, cursing at yourself the entire time.

You usually weren’t so clumsy. You didn’t have a habit of slamming your face into the chests of strangers. You usually were never late. Of course it had to be the day of your debut as an idol that goes so terribly wrong. But even worse, no-one but you (and for previous infractions, your manager) knew of how terrible your day had been progressing. It was a secretly terrible day, one that you should have been able to at least somewhat enjoy since it was the day that was starting your career, where all your hard work would begin to pay off and you would begin to be recognized for it. You were having a party in your honor, for heaven’s sake!

Grumbling obscenities to yourself, you let out a sigh of relief when your bloodied fingers finally catch hold of one of the hand towels on the counter. Quickly dunk the material into the stream of lukewarm water and press the damp cloth to your nose. It stings and your whole face throbs, but you know that this will help stop the bleeding. Or if not, at least keep it at bay long enough for you to find your way to a first-aid kit. Standing up straight sends your whole head into dizziness but you manage to keep yourself upright, leaning back against one of the stalls.

Or rather, what you thought was one of the stalls.

Glancing up in the large oval mirror that lined up with the basin you stood before, you notice that the hard surface you were using for support is in fact a man. A man wearing a white suit jacket and white slacks. You let out a small squeak that is muffled by the wash cloth pressed to your nose and jump away, turning to look over the man. Your suspicion was correct: he’s the same man you’ve just smashed your face into at the bar.

You know because his suit jacket, once white as snow, has been splattered with your blood.

You are prepared to begin spitting out another set of long winded apologies to him but the look on his face strikes you silent. His eyes are fixated on you in such a fashion that sends an immediate chill down your spine, his pupils absolutely blown to the point that you can’t see any semblance of iris. His dark hair is disheveled and thrown over his forehead and into his eyes, his lips parted in a quiet pant which gives him a wild and dangerous look. You almost don’t recognize him because of this.

“T-Taehyung sunbaenim?”

He cocks his head at you abruptly, like a dog who’s just heard his name be called or a dog who’s just been whistled for. Its unnatural, and sends a shiver down your spine. He takes a step towards you and you immediately retreat one step back. This continues until your lower back is pressed into the counter and he looms above you. You squeak as he leans close to you, nostrils flaring. With one fluid motion, his hands are at either side of your hips pinning you as he inhales your scent. You are absolutely shaking like a leaf, completely intimidated by the animalistic display of one of your seniors. His face is so close to your own that his lips brush over the damp cloth you have anchored to your face.

In fact, he licks it.

“Sunbaenim!” you cry, voice wavering, trying to wince away from him but with the counter already pressing against you and his body enveloping you more and more as each moment passes. Its useless. “Sunbaenim, please..”

He leans away from you only slightly at your scared pleading, tilting his head to the side again as if studying you. His face is unreadable, the emotions flickering across it completely masked by your surprise at what is occurring between the two of you. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead sucks in a large gulp of air.

He’s tasting your blood, you realize. One of the members of Big Hit’s golden boys is tasting your blood.

“Taehyung, get off of her!”

A raspy, almost pained voice booms from the swinging door to the bathroom Taehyung has pinned you in. Both of your heads snap in the direction of the yell and you see Hosoek standing in the doorway, completely out of breath. He snaps the door behind him and repeats himself, this time the words almost completely overtaken by a snarl of anger.

Taehyung simply smirks and shakes his head at his hyung, leaning close to your face again. Not breaking eye contact with the other man, he expertly pushes through your shaking hands to the cloth you’ve pressed to your face and removes it from your fragile grasp with his teeth. He tosses the bloodied cloth to the floor, a demonic grin replacing it.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Hosoek warns, and its at this time you notice how wild he also appears. His eyes are also wide, pupils blown, and his mouth hangs open just as Taehyung’s did. But he’s completely focused on his junior, and his face is contorted in pure rage.

You know Hosoek’s line wasn’t bait, but the beast of a man pinning you to the counter takes it. You attempt to squirm away as his face grows closer to your own again but one of his strong hands flies to your chin and locks your head in place with a surprising amount of strength. Its painful and even the slightest bit of resisting sends terrible pain through your skull. You are completely helpless as Taehyung leans in and swipes his tongue over the gash that lines over the bridge of your nose, never breaking his eye contact with his band-mate.

And Hosoek absolutely loses it.

In a flash your face is free from Taehyung’s grip and you scramble away from the counter, barely able to keep up with what is happening before you. At lightning speed, a speed that you literally never could have thought a human to possess, Hosoek is on top of Taehyung with flying fists.

You instantly run to the door, your hands clutching the pull handle, letting it support your weight. You know you should run, you know you should get the hell out of dodge, but you can’t bring yourself to pull open the door. Its as if your arms are made of lead, immovable. You watch in horror as Hosoek absolutely lets into his junior, his bestial rage completely erasing the intimate scene you had with him from earlier in the night from your mind. Taehyung laughs the entire time, even as fists collide with his face, only able to block so many hits from his position on the marbled bathroom floor.

This continues until you hear Taehyung stop laughing.

Body shaking and sweat loosening your grip on the door handle, you dry swallow as Hosoek turns around from his position over Taehyung’s now limp body. His face is splattered with blood from his punches, and he uses his untucked dress shirt to poorly wipe away some of the blood. He doesn’t get up, nor does he make any moves towards you, but the look on his face is wildly changing between the rage he had shown before and the doped out look that Taehyung had been giving you before.

“Run,” he croaks.

Your arms finally cooperate. You’ve never run so fast in your entire life.

\--

You clutch your knees against your chest on your makeshift bed in your studio, forcing away the remaining jitters from your panic attack. You had immediately raced to your studio the moment you fled from the bathroom. No one tried to stop you, you’re not even sure anyone noticed as you ran for your life. You weren’t sure if you were thankful no one else witnessed the horrors you had just experienced, or if you were angry that no one else had come to save you.

You aren’t even sure if you should be thankful to Hosoek. Whatever transpired in that bathroom didn’t feel like a rescue mission, despite him saving you from whatever Taehyung had planned. You weren’t even sure if Taehyung was capable of proper thought in those moments. The look he gave you, the gaze of a predator staring at a defenseless slab of meat, kept flashing through your mind. The heat of his gaze, of Hosoek’s despite his protecting you, seemed to burn through your veins. The feeling of Taehyung’s tongue over your wound.

You cursed to yourself, sliding off of your bed and easing to the full body mirror that hung on the wall beside your desk. You had completely forgotten about your nose. You quickly took inventory of your appearance in the mirror. Your shoes had drops of blood on them, something you could hopefully scrub off. Your dress was miraculously clean though, and you let out a small sigh of relief. Your hair was an absolute mess and your flower crown was no where to be seen. Small bruises formed on either side of your jaw in the shape of Taehyung’s finger prints. You scowled, reaching up to tap them with your own fingers.

Ow.

Finally, you glanced over your nose to see how terrible it looks. Raising an eyebrow, you leaned closer into the mirror, flicking on the desk lamp beside you for an extra dose of light. Surely your eyes weren’t tricking you. Yes, what had just happened was traumatic, but surely you weren’t seeing things. You traced your finger over the skin of your nose, right where Taehyung had swiped his tongue. You gasped, and nearly fell to the floor.

It was completely healed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first ever fanfiction that I've posted to the internet, and its a little indulgence of mine.
> 
> I'm hoping to update at least once a week, more frequent if I'm able. Let me know what you think!


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